


Gods and Men

by AngelicSentinel



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children
Genre: Deliberate Grammatical Errors, Demigods, Flash Fic, Gen, Non-Chronological, Time Travel, Wingfic, apotheosis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-12-01 23:02:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11496591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelicSentinel/pseuds/AngelicSentinel
Summary: "Apotheosis. It's a thing."





	1. Prologue

oh, but my heart hurts. I’m not doing so well.

* * *

I thought I’d gotten past this.

* * *

It came over me today again. I almost hurt denzel…

 

 

 

He came up from behind and I nearly gutted him. I think I need to be by myself for a little while. You understand, don’t you?

 

[graves don’t speak]

I was doing fine. I was doing fine. What happened?

why can’t I shake this. I was better. I was better. I know I was better,

This.. this isn’t me. 

[I know]

 

* * *

i think i crushed some flowers. 

* * *

Today was a good day. I went back to heaven, for a little while. everything was easy. i like it when its easy. I wish…well.

wishing doesnt do any good. even if no one’s here to hear it. 

* * *

the days ar erunnign together again. is that my fault? i dont know

I dont know anything.

* * *

i drove for hours and hours and hours today. the winds been pretty cold. it helped. I’m worried though. I haven’t self-destructed like this since Sephiroth. Is the grey i see on my skin just my imagination?

I thought I was past this. Why am I not past this?

* * *

I made her mad again today. id dont know if it was mad angry or mad crazy, but she was crying

i couldnt.

I cant.

why?

* * *

It’s official. I’m crazy. Mad. Off the deep end. Bananas. A total basket case.

rats in the attic. bats in the belfry. Lights are on, no one’s home. nuts. 

 

I thought I saw you. 

 

[…]

 

it doesnt say anything. just gleams, the water and the metal reflecting infinity. But you were there. In the reflection. I saw you.

I _saw_ you. 

* * *

I know. Believe me, I know. 

* * *

I saw shnira today. HQ lit up the night

Those lights haven’t worked since METEOR

what’s going on?

* * *

no one saw them. no one saw it except me. This time a train thundered through me. I heard the shouting of the engineer. saw him slam on the emergency brake and ghost right through me.

 

whats going on?

 

[darkness falls] 

* * *

the grey is growing. some parts of it are turning black

maybe ill collapse and turn into gunk.

i don’t know how much longer I can hide any of it.

* * *

maybe i shouldnt. Maybe i should just let it take me. 

* * *

Just let me g o.

* * *

l e tg o

* * *

go.

* * *


	2. Second

Sephiroth didn’t hear the man enter. He sat on his bed, knees tucked against his chest. His whole body hurt, particularly his shoulders, from training, but he concentrated instead on how Wutai had felt, the dense forests and cool sea breeze on his face, rather than the gleaming red on his blade. Every time he blinked, it was still there, the field of corpses, the rolling head that looked up at him with accusing eyes.

Eyes that sometimes looked like Angeal’s or Genesis, blaming him for their departure. Oh, he had become maudlin. He shook his head.

“Of course I found you in the highest room of the tallest tower, Princess,” he heard someone say. He tensed, his shoulders screaming with pain.

“Who are you?” he reached for his sword, but stopped as the man made no threatening moves. To be honest, his appearance startled him more than anything. The stranger wore dark leather, and had a set of ebony wings that brushed the sides of his bare walls, filling the room. Pale skin, like the colour of snow, and a shock of blond hair like the sun. Tinted riding goggles covered his eyes. He had no idea where he’d come from or how he’d gotten here. 

“A memory,” he said. He sat down on Sephiroth’s bed next to him, so close their legs touched, tucking his wings as he did, like a bird. “Just a memory.”

“Not many memories could steal through Shin-Ra without sounding an alarm,” Sephiroth pointed out.

The man quirked his lips. “You’d be surprised. Memories are powerful things,” he said, bumping his shoulders.

It was odd. It felt almost… companionable.

“Pretty solid for just a memory.”

“I guess.”

“Why are you here?” Sephiroth asked to hide his unease about his ease.

“Because some people need to be reminded that every story has two sides, that’s all.“

“It’s easy to forget,” Sephiroth said. He doesn’t say ‘we were made to be monsters, to see our fellow damned across the battlefield.’ He doesn’t say ‘we’re supposed to forget.’ They both knew it. It was pointless to say it out loud.

“Tell me, do you ever doubt?”

Sephiroth started to speak, started to say ‘Of course, I don’t,’ but he paused. Instead, he answered, “Who doesn’t?”

A long silence. The man’s weighted stare, felt even through his goggles. Never much one for conversation, Sephiroth somehow felt the need to add, “I doubt. I doubt everything.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Hojo—” Pain exploded in from his back, and Sephiroth couldn’t help but cry out.

The man ran a hand across his back, digging his fingers into the muscles through his coat and twisting, and inexplicably, it soothed the ache, even as it burned like fire. Like a divine touch. 

“Belief is a powerful thing.”

“And a memory is telling me that?”

“What is a memory but a belief that something happened once? Something real?”

“Memories are lies. Eyewitness accounts change.”

“All the more to prove my point. Are you a believer, or are you a liar?”

“Yes.” Both were true, after all. 

The man laughed. “I’d forgotten how infuriating you were.”

Sephiroth frowned. “’Were?’”

“Mmm. A slip of the tongue. Don’t pay it any attention.”

“Who are you?” Sephiroth found himself asking again. 

“Apotheosis. It’s a thing,” the man said with a quirk of his lip. 

“What?” Sephiroth asked. The word sounded familiar, but…

A knock at the door. Sephiroth’s eyes flicked towards the door, a momentary distraction, and then the man was gone with the slightest whisper of wings, nothing to show he’d been there save for a solitary black feather resting on the centre of his pillow.


	3. Why?

Cloud staggered into the church, taking a deep breath, rolling his shoulders to ease the strong ache in his back. He just needed to get away from Seventh Heaven for a little bit before Tifa caught the fact that he was ill. He almost hadn’t made it.

Marlene had seen him leave though, panting and sweating and rubbing at his shoulders, and her worried face had lingered in Cloud’s mind for a very long time.

And then there was this. He sighed, rolling back his sleeves to reveal mottled grey arms and sat down at the edge of the pool of water where Aerith’s flowers used to be.

Fragrant petals drifted in the water, white and yellow and the palest shade of pink. Cloud pulled off one of his gloves with his teeth and dipped his fingers onto the water, tracing patterns and causing ripples to form across the surface. It erased the grey with a flash of green, but when he pulled his hand away, the grey raced back, curling around the curves of his hand like a dark caress.

He stared at the image of the Buster Sword reflected in the water, at how the ripples distorted it, fracturing the image into pieces.

The thought drifted across his mind before he could catch it. _Nibelheim_.

And just like that, his fragile peace was broken. As if the thought was the catalyst, pain lanced through his back, concentrating on his shoulders. He fell to the ground, teeth clenched in pain as his body spasmed.

He rocked, banging into broken benches and pews. He felt them bubbling underneath his skin, slamming himself into the wall to keep them away.

The wings broke through, black and blood-soaked and brilliant, feathers falling everywhere in a mockery of rain. He turned and banged his fist against the wall, mottled grey still there.

“Hey, Cloud.” the voice from behind stopped him cold.

Cloud turned. “Zack?” he said, voice shaking with disbelief. The eponymous figure leaned against the doorway, only this time, the golden light didn’t shine through him. He cast a shadow on the floor. “Zack?”

He smiled. “That’s my name, don’t wear it out. I’ve only got the one, you know.”

“How—what—why?” Cloud said, struck dumb. Maybe he had fallen asleep, and this was a dream.

“Who, where, when?” Zack said. “If you want to complete the set.” He gave a roguish grin, teeth blinding white and gave Cloud a wink. He stretched, unfolding a massive pair of shining silver wings. They were so pretty, the way they refracted the light streaming through the broken roof.

“I’ve lost it.” Cloud muttered, face pale. He backed up, nearly tripping on his wings which dragged on the floor. He pinched himself until he bled, but it didn’t work. He tried desperately to figure out what set it off this time. Last time had been during the battle with the Remnants, when Sephiroth…Here he thought he finally had that little piece of peace he craved.

“No, not quite,” Zack said, ignoring his breakdown. He came over by Cloud’s side, taking off his heavy combat boots and rolling up the legs of his fatigues, sticking his bare feet in the spring, curling his toes and giving a delighted sigh, spreading his wings. He leaned back on his hands, kicking his feet, closing his eyes. “Maybe you’ve just found it, that’s all.”

“But how?”

“Does it really matter?” Zack shrugged. “I don’t get it either. I got a few minutes, you know. Figured we could talk. It’s been a long time coming.” He patted the floor beside him. “Siddown, relax, stay awhile.”

“But why are you here?” Cloud pressed, bewildered but following Zack’s instruction and sitting back down.

Zack shrugged. “Don’t have nowhere else to be. Besides, you looked like you could use the company. It’s no fun being miserable alone.”

“But you’re dead,” Cloud said.

Zack waved him off. “I don’t know why I’m here in the flesh, but something somewhere has to have a plan.”

“And you’re happy not having an explanation?”

“I’m not going to waste time questioning it, if that’s what you mean. I’ve spent too much time missing the wind on my face.” He looked at the back of his hand, then turned it palm up, curling his fingers. “Not to mention touch.”

Cloud frowned.

Zack then reached out and ruffled his hair. “I’m proud of you, Cloudy.”

“Zack,” Cloud’s voice cracked. Cloud reached out and pulled Zack into a bone-crushing hug. Zack returned it, wrapping his arms around him tightly and tucking Cloud’s head under his chin against his shoulder.

“So very proud. You’ve come so far,” Zack said to the top of his head, squeezing him tighter, wrapping his wings around him. “It’s been wonderful to see you grow.”

He felt warm. More than that, he felt real.

“I’ve failed, I’ve let you down, I—”

“—Could never let me down, buddy.  Believe that if nothing else.” Zack pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

“I’ll try.”

“It was never your burden to bear, but you’ve carried it admirably,” Zack said.

Cloud didn’t know what to say to that, so he kept quiet. They sat in silence for a while before Zack spoke up again.

“You ever wonder who the god of this church used to be?” Zack asked.

“No, not really. Why?”

“I do. Someone spent a lot of time on this place, a long time ago. I mean, just look at it.”

Cloud did. Hand-carved statues, stained glass, vaulted ceilings, stone placed in such a way one just knew they hadn’t had more than scaffolding and a pulley system to erect it. “It would have taken years.”

“Decades, maybe,” Zack agreed. “And then one by one, people stopped coming. Maybe they had busy lives, maybe they died, maybe they moved away. Anyway, they stopped coming. And over time, people just…forgot. I’ve asked around before. No one remembers anymore.”

“Yeah?”

“All that effort, and no one remembers.” Zack laughed. “Isn’t that just how things go?”

“I’ll never forget you,” Cloud promised. “I’ve worked too hard to remember.”

“Belief is a very powerful thing. It makes things linger longer than they should, sometimes.”

“What do you mean?”

Zack pressed something into Cloud’s hands, curling his fingers around it. “One chance, Cloud. See you on the other side.” Cloud rolled the the object between his palms. It was round, the size of a shooter marble, and cool to the touch, a deep blue like the bottom of the ocean.

Zack rose to his feet, walking away. And then Zack faded, the afterimage of his smiling face lingering for a long time, wet footprints leading into nothing.

His boots disintegrated into dust.


	4. First

“Angels dream of one thing… To be human,” Angeal said. He was old and grey, weathered far beyond his years. His transformation and the subsequent battle had taken a lot out of him.

And still, Zack hesitated. This was Angeal, who was the best man he’d ever known. Who’d taught him about dreams and honour, about sacrifice. He couldn’t argue about giving him a warrior’s death, but it just seemed so pointless. Everything since Genesis left did.

Without warning, a howling wind swept through the room, interrupting their tête-à-tête, stirring up debris. With it came the crackle of power. The very air vibrated as if in anticipation. Both men raised their hands against the wind as it rattled through the room.

Then black feathers fell, soft and gentle, sweeping the whole room. As Angeal turned, white wing flaring, and Zack looked up, his mouth hanging open, a man descended from the sky through a hole in the ceiling on large black wings, landing between Zack and Angel on his knees and one gloved fist. Not one for poesy, Zack nevertheless thought his blond hair shone bright as the sun, his skin pale and fragile as spring snow, his eyes covered by a pair of tinted goggles. The man—or whatever—stood. “If angels dream of being human, then what do gods dream of?” the man asked, taking a step forward.

He dressed in black leather, his ebony wings outspread nearly filling the entire room. His feet made no noise as he continued to step forward towards Angeal.

Angeal’s student darted between them, hand on his sword. “You’re not going to kill him.” Zack said, even though he’d been nearly forced to do just that.

The goggles covered his eyes, but they did nothing to hide the intensity of his stare. Zack, much to his shame, looked away first.

“Don’t think of it as a death. Consider it more of a rebirth.” He disappeared in a flash of movement.

Zack whirled, but it was too late.

The man reached out, grasping Angeal’s shoulder before he could raise his guard—the one without the wing, Zack couldn’t stop him—digging his fingers _inside_ the flesh just above Angeal’s shoulder blade, blood mixed with black sludge that moved and oozed and breathed coating his fingers, dripping to the ground and hissing. Angeal gasped, arching his back, black ichor flowing from his mouth, thick and viscous like pitch.

As it did, the years melted away. Even the fine lines on Angeal’s face that had always been there were gone.

As Zack watched, Angeal seized, bones erupting from his back with a sick crack, muscle and sinew racing down the new white and spreading like spiderwebs. Then white feathers, blindingly bright, sprouting in layers. In a short amount of time, he had a matching set of four white wings, two larger, two smaller.

“What is this?” Angeal breathed, wings curling around.

“Your absolution. Your punishment. Your judgement. I don’t know, take your pick,” the man shrugged, flaring his wings before tucking them against his back.

“Who are you?” Zack demanded.

A bitter, rueful smile. “I wish I knew.”

Zack had a hundred thousand burning questions. He moved to speak, but the man was already turning away.

“Take care of yourself, okay Zack?” he said, one hand tossed up in a careless wave, his back to him.

Zack had a million questions, but only one escaped his lips. “How did you know my name?” he managed to get out, a bit dumb.

The man just sent one last look back and smiled before taking to the air, his great beating wings ruffling up dust. Zack held his hand up to keep the dirt from his eyes, and when he looked up, the man was gone.

Angeal stood there, just staring at his hands, turning them, marveling at him. His upper wings hung limp, dragging into the dirt.

“Angeal?” Zack asked.

Their eyes met. A sheen of tears, silently trailing down Angeal’s face.

Zack looked up.

And there was rain.


	5. Interlude

Even gods have days when they can’t sleep.

Not that Cloud would ever call himself a god. It seems too presumptuous, too precarious a ledge, too tempting.

But people believe, when they shouldn’t, and this belief gives things power when they otherwise would have none.

With wide ebony wings outstretched, he is nothing but a pale shadow in the night, skin the colour of moonlight and wings filled with stars.

Gods are as hollow as men, once the veneer that calls itself divinity is stripped away, and people and places are as fragile and ephemeral as seconds.

Ever changing as the wind.

Hollow men. Empty shells with blank faces. Shadowed figures in the dark.

The emptiness weighs on his heart, concentrated gravity. Restless, unsure, it thrums under his skin. He’s certain he should be doing something, but doesn’t know exactly what.

And so he fidgets, pale shadow in the night, waiting for that inexorable moment to sweep him away again.


End file.
